


Neptune

by Puniyo



Series: Planets [7]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Experimental writing, M/M, Post-Olympics, ice-cream cameo, sugar and fluff, to dream or not to dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 09:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: The planet of change and under the same star as the god Poseidon, Neptune is the planet of dreams, hypnosis and illusion. It’s in the nature of the people under this planet to be compassionate, to trust their intuition, and they are the embodiment of a surreal mystique – enchanting on their words, captivating in their minds.Javier is back to Spain but he misses someone terribly.





	Neptune

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, how long haven't I updated this series? *opens drawers and clears the dust*  
> I think this fic is really faithful to the meaning of this planet and to be honest, I don't know what I feel about this. I don't know what I feel today. I can only repeat myself - life is harsh, fiction is not. 
> 
> There are a few Spanish words in the fic and for those who are native speakers of this language, please correct me if they are wrong. I appreciate it a lot. 
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply. This is a product of my imagination and in no ways it reflects the people mentioned.

_The planet of change and under the same star as the god Poseidon, Neptune is the planet of dreams, hypnosis and illusion. It’s in the nature of the people under this planet to be compassionate, to trust their intuition, and they are the embodiment of a surreal mystique – enchanting on their words, captivating in their minds._

It’s just a stash of papers, some with dates to fill in, some waiting for his signature. _Javier Fernández López_. The tail on the ‘F’ that extends to the ‘Z’ in the end, in a loop of blue ink. Playlists of songs, _recibos amarillos_ , and rows of numbers in crossed cheques. There are squared tables, round charts of sponsors’ shares, and he just wishes he had paid more attention to math classes in high school.

_How many years were that Javier, 10 years ago?_

He takes a sip of his cappuccino, the powdered chocolate and milky foam drawing a white moustache on him. The drink is lukewarm but it revitalizes him. The numbers can almost be deciphered and he continues his marathon of ticks, names and more scribbles.

Who said it was easy to produce an ice show in Spain? Who said producing anything would be easy when involving money?

His phone flashes a green light in an annoying speed – an incoming e-mail. It’s Antonio Najarro, the man behind his _Malagueña_ steps and flamenco hands, and he confirms the utmost support in preparing the choreography for the opening number, one that will have everyone in their seats experiencing _la sangre Latina_ pulsing in their veins.

_¡Estupendo! One less thing to worry about._

The same waiter who brought him the coffee returns this time with a pristine crystal bowl, two scoops of ice cream in it, pink and crème, side by side, and a dollop of whipped cream on top – an extremely sugary dessert it seemed.

‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t order anything else yet.’

‘No sir, this is from a young gentleman who has just left and insisted on the treat.’

Javier looks around – there are only two couples, too immersed in their own world of fantasy to even pay attention to him, and a father splitting his steak with his daughter. There was no young gentleman in the same premises as him.

He thanks the waiter and stares for a few seconds before picking the silver spoon and diving on the partially melted cold confection. It tasted even sweeter than it looked. Strawberry shortcake flavor. He smiles at the fruity zest that hits the roof of his mouth.

_You would definitely love this._

He takes a sip of his cappuccino again.

The caffeine scratches his throat and the bitterness is accentuated.

He returns to the ice-cream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_‘But the husbands from the others don’t_

_Because the husbands from the others are_

_The archetype of perfection_

_The pinnacle of creation_

_Docile creatures_

_Of some other species.’ [1]_

Javier has not been to a _mercado de la calle_ since he left for New Jersey to train under Nikolai Morozov and then under the tutelage of Brian Orser in Toronto. Spain did not change in those years when it came to traditions.

He was the one who had _changed_.

The large avenue was decorated from one end to the other, rainbows of every single color of the light spectrum tied to balconies and paper lanterns that competed in size and shapes. The popular tunes echoed in the festive atmosphere. Serenades to belle dames on guitars and racy melodies of someone’s husband on the accordion. Javier tries not to bump into running children playing tag amidst all the confusion – he used to do the same – and there’s a certain nostalgia to the popular chaos.

He visits the tapas stalls, though the taste of strawberry is still imprinted in his palate. It’s the smell of tomatoes and saffron of his favorite paella, the saucy texture of _gambas con chorizo_ , the pungent oily odor of _croquetas_ , _huevos a la Mexicana_ , _a la Flamenca_.

_I didn’t make the wrong choice when I came back, did I?_

He’s proud of his country and his people, of what they have to offer to the world, of the embroideries and patchworks in the quilts that were on display, and the Moorish tapestries and rugs that is so inherently theirs.

And the handicrafts don’t seem to end – handmade Tarot cards, wallets made of cork, beads wired into _bracelets_.

Javier stops for a second and picks up a small one. It was made of purple quartz, the little girl explains, rough on the edges, imperfectly cut green aventurines and clear fluorite triangles – the same colors of _his_ costume.

_You would definitely love this._

‘It’s a rare combination of crystals. The amethyst will bring you clarity of mind and this light one here, do you see it? It’s for cleansing one’s mind from worry, you know, the daily stresses. It also washes away guilt.’

He thanks the seller for the detailed description and buys it on impulse.

He shoves the bracelet on his pocket and walks back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Are you sure you’re not coming with us? _Tía Lourdes_ misses you terribly. You’re still her golden boy on wheels.’

Javier has no idea how his sister Laura persuaded him to drop his incognito papers for a fast trip to the shopping mall on their residential area, that was everything but fast. A personal slave is what she needed. He kissed her on the cheek, feeling silly that he was complaining about their short date.

‘I skate on blades, not wheels.’

‘It’s all the same to her. She still wants to see you and she even promised she would make that _guiso_ you love so much.’

_And food again, am I so easily lured?_

‘I really can’t Laura. Tell her that I’m sorry. I just need to finish all these… this _embrollo_ by the weekend.’

Laura grabs him by the arm and they stop in front of a bookshop. ‘It’s not an _embrollo_ , it’s not a mess. It’s a new challenge my dear brother. You’ve conquered the Olympic podium. This shouldn’t be as difficult.’

He smiles and taps his feet in a nervous jitter. She was right – there is nothing to fear. A new step in his life. He could move forward.

‘Tell _tía_ Lourdes that I love her.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll show her the pictures you took with _el Rey_. She is going to go hysterical! Can you imagine her two favorite men in the same photo – Javi of the wheels and King Felipe?’ – She nudged him on the shoulder, easing the tension in his muscles – ‘Let’s go in. I need to buy a magazine. Meadows and trees won’t entertain me on the train.’

She runs away into the gossip section while he roams around the different shelves – international literature (not for today), geography and politics (perhaps in a near future), _cuentos de hadas_ (he flips a few pages laughing at the colorful pictures of dragons that spit fire and princesses sleeping in a pea pod), and biographies.

He recognizes the skater on the cover, the black plants and blue shirt, unbuttoned on the collar and suspenders on top – _Guys and Dolls_ on ice. He didn’t remember he had his own biography, his own testimony on the sport and a wave of emptiness washes over him, diluting his enthusiasm and multiplying his doubts.

_What do you want Javier?_

He doesn’t know anymore.

He keeps wandering aimlessly around the sea of books – foreign languages, DIY kits, culinary arts, sports section.

There is one magazine that draws his attention and his feet stop on their own account. Javier is more than satisfied that his English skills are better than those of his entire family but he has to accept defeat when it comes to the string of polished curves and vertical strokes. He can’t read Japanese but he doesn’t need to know what is written to know the content.

It’s a certain skater with a red blazing sun wrapped around his shoulders and a tiger plushy in his hands.

_I want you._

‘Do you need something, Javi?’

Laura’s voice brings him back to reality.

He shakes his head and follows her out of the shop in silence, _his_ smile a spell trying to break his sanity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_‘Javi.’_

_Call me. Call me again. Call me like you used to._

It’s a sweet moan this time. He doesn’t know if it is his own or _his_. His hands are tied, he can’t move. But _he_ does. _He_ runs his fingers roughly on his hair, pulling his hazelnut locks with sheer force and he gasps for air. _He_ thrusts _his_ tongue into his mouth and their lips meet with crushing attraction. _He_ tastes like chocolate, like opium curdling his logic and aphrodisiac injected into his nerves.

_‘Javi.’_

_His_ coy smile betrays _his_ obsidian eyes and he feels the spilling desire on that last lick on his abused lips. _His_ hands keep descending on his body, tiptoeing his neck, his chest, his ribs. _He_ says something, but he can’t hear the words, only the desperate pants as their bodies press together, skin on skin, sweat on sweat, and teeth sink into that extra sensitive spot behind his ears.

He wants to move his hands but the knot is too tight and the tie holds his wrists together. He involuntarily nudges his hardened manhood on _his_ thigh and there is the coquettish smirk again and a quick, chaste kiss on him – a promise _he_ won’t neglect him long. He still can’t hear the words.

_‘Javi.’_

_He_ continues moving downwards, _his_ nails tickling and teasing his solar plexus, the toned muscles of his pelvis, his inner thigh. He moans loudly when he feels the same chocolate lips on his cock, taking him fully, languidly slow and making a spectacle out of it, shamelessly letting his throbbing organ slide in and out of _his_ scorching mouth and skillful tongue. He looks at the confident eyes, at the fearless gaze, almost arrogant, at _his_ insatiable teary eyes that never leave his.

He has no strength left on his legs, the pleasure inviting him and he lets himself be consumed by _his_ sensual animalism.

_Yuzuru._

Javier wakes up with a sharp cry, his blanket discarded on the floor and his pillow damp with his own sweat. He stares at the ceiling, at the darkness around him while he tries to recover his breath and let his heart and lungs calm down. He coughs a few times hoping the air will alleviate his sudden dizziness but it doesn’t help. He lifts his hand to his forehead – he is not chained anymore.

His sits at the edge of his bed and the acute sting on his lower body as well as the clinging warmth on his thighs confirms his suspicion. He gets up and runs to the bathroom, hitting his knee on the corner of his desk, the pain on his cartilage not enough to rival the choking constriction on his chest. He plunges himself into the freezing water, not caring about removing his clothes first.

When he returns to his bed, he believes he can still taste chocolate on his lips.

He looks at the clock. It’s 2:23am. He can’t fall asleep again that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_‘Hold me tonight_

_Feel the time that I’ve lost_

_‘Cause tomorrow I’m not here anymore.’ [2]_

Javier observes his reflection on the mirror – unshaved face, uncombed hair, dark circles under his eyes – the perfect model for the latest fashion trends.

_What are you doing Javier?_

He splashes cold water on his cheeks, each drop an icy stalactite to tune his senses back to reality. Sea-scented cream, blades on his skin – he takes a good look again at the mirror. A much _better_ Javier Fernández.

It is night time, the dirty dishes from dinner left forgotten on the sink and a silence permeates the tiles of the kitchen. He has just finished reviewing the last of the papers that tormented him yesterday, for his family is away on the annual visit to _tía_ Lourdes and her field of golden apples. A sigh escapes his lips. He balances on the chair, rocking back and forth.

He almost falls when the doorbell rings.

‘Javi.’

He swallows hard and his legs threaten to fail him, like _last night_.

_Yuzuru._

The younger man has no opportunity to utter anything else as he is pulled into the Spaniard’s arms and the front door is slammed shut. The hug is famished and filled with a needy hunger for comfort – the kind only Yuzuru could give him.

_Do I still dream?_

It’s a long embrace. He can feel the pulse of his former rink mate as he inhales the lemon and vanilla exposed on the crook of his neck. He inhales again, feeling sick with the intensity of his essence, one that he’s been deprived of in the past months.

‘Javi–‘

‘Don’t. Don’t say anything.’

He brings the younger man’s hand to his lips and plants a soft kiss on his palm and he sees the different bracelets on his wrists – he wonders where he put the one he bought. He resumes the kiss and he licks the slender, long fingers, his dream last night suddenly vivid and rewinding on his temples.

Except, his hands are not tied and he touches the softness of his black hair, darker than the sky outside and _he_ purrs like a cat with the name of _his_ owner in his lips. He kisses them, gingerly and tentatively, he nibbles on the sensitive pink and requests for permission to play with his tongue. He waits patiently for his reward and he’s met with the virgin eagerness he missed so much.

They both laugh at their clumsy attempts to remove their clothes while kissing and walking, their brains not registering all the actions at the same time but their instinct demanding a closer contact, a fusion of their respective yearning for each other. Forget about the room, too far, and they both fall on the leather sofa, a mess of tangled limbs and moans and muffled giggles.

_Am I still dreaming Yuzuru?_

Javier has never felt the same joy as when he entered Yuzuru that night, the younger man’s legs crossed behind his back and encouraging him to stay _inside_ of _him_ and to move. But he wouldn’t let the selfish boy have his way easily. He dictated the pace of their love making this time, never hasty but lazy so he could feel every inch of him, coercing the same carnal cries in Yuzuru, if not more sensuous and unrestrained as he teased _his_ most sensitive spot, vigorous and provoking, passionate and protective. They both came in the same wave of unspoken candor and mutual lust, both searing their climaxes with a kiss, just as slow and tender.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘What are you doing in Spain, Yuzuru? Does your mother know?’

The Japanese parts his hair to the side, caressing his forehead that was resting on _his_ thigh – his personal human pillow. He cuddles closer to the heat he missed, the lemon and vanilla.

‘Javi asks too many questions.’

He bites the exposed navel and Yuzuru almost throws him to the floor as reflex. He loves his inhibited laughter and he teases again. Yuzuru struggles to keep quiet and his nails accidentally draw blood on Javier’s cheek.

He doesn’t mind – _hurt me if you want_  – and he just hugs the other’s waist with more determination. He feels the other’s body tense up. Just a little.

‘I came to try Spanish ice-cream.’

Javier feels a calmness invading his senses, a lethargic energy filling his bones and his eyelids are heavy. He can still faintly hear his voice, a lullaby to his consciousness.

_I’ve missed you._

‘Brian is on holidays. No training for me. Ankle not yet…’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s 2:23am and he wakes up at the sound of the rain hitting his window pane.

‘Yuzu?’

No one answers and he can only hear his own breathing. His eyes are not yet adjusted to the darkness and a cold draft sends a shiver down his spine. He recoils instinctively and pulls up the blanket. He doesn’t remember getting one.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] This is from a Portuguese song called 'Os Maridos das Outras' by Miguel Araújo. It translates as 'The husbands of the others (women)'. It's a funny song and I felt it was appropriate for the street market atmosphere.
> 
> [2] This is from a Portuguese song called 'Agarra-me esta Noite' by Pedro Abrunhosa, one of the biggest genius in Portuguese music. It translates as 'Hold me Tonight'. 
> 
> The Spanish words used above:  
> recibos amarillos - yellow receipts  
> la sangre latina - the latin blood (like the proud feeling of being a latino(a)  
> Estupendo! - Great!  
> Mercado de la calle - street market, like a popular fair  
> gambas con chorizo, croquetas... - these are famous tapas dishes  
> tía - aunty  
> embrollo - a mess  
> el Rey - the King  
> cuentos de hadas - fairytales
> 
> Also, the next planet is the last one! I can't believe this is almost the end. Pluto is the planet of death and rebirth. I can only tell you that I love drama as much as happy endings.


End file.
